


Blue Roses

by kittykatknits



Series: 1001 Northern Nights [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1001 Arabian Nights AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jon's status is known, Mild Fluff, R plus L equals J, Smut, Very Mild Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 14:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Jon Snow takes his army and dragon north, determined to win Winterfell to his family's cause. He did not expect his new bride to be presented to him chained up and naked. He especially did not expect her weapons to be stronger than his own. As Jon quickly learns, stories in the north hold great power and neither his dragon nor his sword can protect him when Sansa Stark weaves her tales.----This is the first in a five part series. It is based upon the story of Orys Baratheon and Argella Durrandon.





	Blue Roses

Sansa stood as she faced her bannermen in the great hall of Winterfell. “My lords, we must stand together if we are to defeat these dragon invaders.” Low rumbles trickled through the room, mixing together so the words were indistinct. It made no matter, she knew their fears, they were the same as her own. The north had been at war for so long, leaving her as the Stark in Winterfell. “We fought off the Lannisters to keep our independence. We have fought against Wildling invasions time and time again. The Ironborn and the Vale both have fallen to us. The north has never been defeated and we will emerge victorious once again, if we stand together.”

Lord Glover stood abruptly, bringing a quick silence to the room. “My lady,-”

“Your grace,” Sansa sharply interrupted. The crown and title fell to Sansa the day Robb died, dealing a fatal blow to the Lannisters.

“Your grace,” Lord Glover hastened to correct, though his tone held an indulgent sound she misliked. “Our sons and people are dead. Our crops are destroyed and our lands lie fallow. This army comes with a dragon.”

She knew as well as her lords who marched towards Winterfell, if the rumors were true. Her bastard cousin, sent on behalf of his Targaryen brother and aunt, to claim the north and make it their own. She’d heard stories of this Jon Snow, of his prowess in battle and his skill with a blade. Likely, half were lies and the others mere tales that had grown in the telling. “We will meet him and his army in open battle. This Jon Snow will not burn the castle or the men he means to rule.” Sansa prayed to the old gods and the new that she spoke true.

“Your Grace, perhaps we could offer terms and avoid engaging in another war?”

“Lord Bolton, I swear to you all, on my honor as a Stark, we will offer generous terms and do all that can be done to avoid warfare.” Sansa’s father once counselled Robb not to trust Roose Bolton, she reminded herself. Still, he was one of her most powerful bannerman, what he said others lords thought. She would need to assuage him before her bannerman would follow.

Above them, the screeches and roars of a great beast could be heard, a sound so loud and unnatural, it turned her belly cold. Sansa noticed some of her lords jump before grabbing their swords. She could almost smell their fear.

It was time for a new plan.

*****

Jon rode his dragon, circling the great keep below him, letting Viserion’s shadow fall over the towers and godswood. Beneath him, Jon could spy the Winterfell household, staring up at him in terror. Viserion let loose another bestial roar and Jon ordered him to breath flame. “Let them see your white fire, my friend,” he ordered.

A few minutes later, Jon landed by his army. It was only a few thousand men but he did not need more. Winterfell would be his before the moon rose in the sky. In the distance, he could see the castle gates rise and a dozen or so men riding towards them.

“They will be offering terms, no doubt,” Jon said to one of his men. “This will go quickly.” At least, he hoped so. Jon knew his half-brother sent him north as a sop. He would give his family the north and they would give him a backwater castle, as far from King’s Landing as he could be.

Jon met them in the open field, under the great gray stone walls, with the Targaryen standard behind him. Above, his dragon, cream and gold, flew low to the ground, reminding these northerners who they faced.

He listened in silence, not hearing a word of their terms, until it was done. “Your offer is rejected. Here is my counter. Deliver me Winterfell, deliver me your castle guard, your Lady Stark, and your swords within the hour. Do so and kneel to me as your Lord Paramount. In turn–”

Jon did not finish as the sharp sound of swords drawing forth from their scabbard filled the air. The northmen, each and every one, charged towards him, in a desperate bid to give the killing blow. Quickly, he drew Long Claw as his own soldiers did the same.

He danced, left, right, left, back, slash, twist, and left again. Jon swung, bringing swords together for a kiss before moving left and right again. It went on, the scrape of steel, the pained cries of men, and Jon’s dancing continued, backslash, hack, twist, left, and shove. The final opponent lay on the ground, covered in the mud and blood of the fallen.

He got on his knees, putting a dagger to the soldier’s throat. “New terms,” he bit out. “Give me all I ask for or the north will burn, I swear it to you. Deliver that message to your Lady Stark. One hour. You best hurry.”

It took thirty minutes.

Jon sat on his white destrier, Ghost, as three riders came towards him. One had wrapped herself in a great cloak, a thick mane of copper hair streaming in the wind behind her. He was meeting Sansa Stark at long last. She was rumored to be a great beauty, sweet, kind, and eager to please. Jon wondered how much of that was lies.

He waited until they drew close, two men on either side of her. “Lady Stark, can I assume you are accepting my terms?”

She did not answer. Instead, one of the men, with pale, colorless eyes, and a soft, fleshly look thought fit to speak on her behalf. “As chosen by other lords in the north, I offer you a gift, Lady Sansa Stark. She’s a beautiful woman, as you can see. We accept your terms. Winterfell is yours.”

Quickly, he pulled the thick, fur cloak from Lady Stark’s body. Jon stared in shock, certain his eyes deceived him. The rumors of her beauty were true, of that, there was no doubt. Then, she was shoved from her horse, collapsing at its feet with a groan of pain.

Jon hastily dismounted. “Avert your eyes, all of you,” he roared. He undid the fastenings of his own cloak before wrapping it over the woman who lay before him. “My lady, have you been harmed?”

Her blue eyes, an impossibly rich shade, were shuttered to him. She did not speak. It was only then Jon noticed the chains about her wrists and waist and ankles. “I will have the keys or your head, my lord. How will you choose?” A key quickly appeared in his hand which Jon used to gently free her. “I beg your forgiveness. This was not my doing, I swear it to you.”

“Thank you for your assistance, my lord,” she said courteously.

“No thanks are required. Will you allow me?” Jon offered his arm, helping her to her feet. “Seize these two,” he ordered to his men. Jon did not require their names to know they were not to be trusted. “Have you been harmed?” He asked, repeating his earlier question.

“No, my lord. You are very kind to offer your cloak.”

He felt awkward, not sure how to respond to her. Jon studied Lady Stark, his cousin. She stood tall and straight but he saw red in her eyes. She’d cried not so long ago. Her body was hidden away now, but he did not see any sign of bruising or other injury. Jon saw other parts of her as well, but he did not allow his thoughts to linger. “Were you…ill-used?” He hoped his meaning was clear. For all his years, Jon sometimes still felt a certain sense of inadequacy around noble born women.

She met his eyes for the first time. Steel, Jon thought. There was fear too, but it was strength she showed to him. “No, my lord. I am a maid.” She whispered the last part so the words carried only to his ears.

Jon sent his men into Winterfell ahead of him, ordering the lord’s chambers made ready for his use. He also intended to get the names of all those who chained up Sansa Stark. It shamed him, the knowledge that his actions led to her treatment. Jon planned for an alliance between them, only he’d hoped to do so with sweet words and subtle pushes, and, most especially, not to a naked woman in chains.

“Will you walk with me?” He extended his arm, surprised at his exhale of relief when she took it.

“Thank you, ser.”

“I’m not a knight, Lady Stark. Will you call me Jon, please?”

“Very well, Jon, if it pleases you.” He waited for an offer to call her Sansa but quickly realized none would be offered.

They walked in silence, passing under the gate, between the two great bulwarks. Around them, his men swarmed the castle grounds, establishing him as the new Lord of Winterfell. Jon meant to escort her to her rooms but decided against it, realizing he had probably taken them from her. She had ruled in her own name, even if only for a brief time. “The lady’s chambers are yours. We will speak further once we both have some time to refresh and clean ourselves from this day.”

Sansa did not speak but her eyes grew wide as she took in his meaning. The lady’s chambers were usually reserved for the lord’s wife and he was giving them to her. “That would please me greatly, my lord.”

Jon noticed she omitted his name but did not correct her, wondering if it was deliberate. Instead, he gave a chivalrous reply before taking her to her rooms in silence. In his own, Jon scrubbed his face and hands with the cold water he found in a pitcher, turning it a light shade of pink. He wondered what Sansa thought of him, covered in the blood of dead northerners. Next, he changed into simple clothes, plain brown wool, before pouring himself a cup of ale.

It did not take long for Sansa to arrive. She stood in the solar she’d occupied only that very morning, dressed in a rich gown of gray silk and velvet. Her hair was brushed smooth, shining against the fire light. An image came to him, as he’d first seen her, the smooth curve of her hips, the red between her legs, and teats that demanded a man’s touch.

Sansa studied Jon Snow. He occupied the rooms that had once been hers, and her brother and father before her. He was her cousin, and still a stranger who had yet to show himself a Stark to her. Jon Snow stood taller than her, but not by so very much. He lacked the great bulk of the of the Hound but there was a certain look to him that told her there was strength and muscle hidden under his clothing.

She’d intended to remain silent, to force him to offer up the opening thrust. Sansa took note of his downward gaze and the tight fist of his right hand. His shoulders sat stiff and rigid. She remembered the concern he displayed when she’d been trussed up and put on display for him. She did not know if his care was genuine or not. Still, Jon Snow was not fully at ease, that was answer enough. She’d give him a small cut. “In the north, we do not hide behind headsmen. If you plan my death, I ask only to wear a Stark cloak on my shoulders and you do the act yourself by the heart tree. Let the gods stand as witness to your deeds.”

Her blow struck. Jon Snow’s lips twitched before drawing flat. “My mother was Lyanna Stark. It is said I look like her, that I have the Stark look. Will you tell me if it is true?” She did not like the answer to his question so kept her silence. Jon huffed, frustrated. “You don’t intend to tell me, is that it? Very well, I’ll answer your questions. Your death is not my goal. Our marriage is.”

“And when do you plan for this marriage to take place?” It’s what she expected. Still, expecting this fate did not lessen the pain she felt when he spoke. He wanted a broodmare. Sansa allowed her thoughts to briefly turn to her parents.

“Three days, enough time for you to make a bridal cloak and have a small feast prepared. You did not answer me.”

“You look like my father did when I was a young girl.” Except Ned Stark only looked at his family with kindness and love, his eyes gentle and his smile warm. She saw none of that in Jon Snow. “You look like my sister Arya and your mother’s statue in the crypts below us. You could visit her if you like.”

“Would you accompany me?” Sansa thought she heard a hint of hope in his voice but she could not be certain, she did not know Jon Snow well enough to say.

“It would please me to do so.” It did not please her. His question made her wonder though. Jon was not merely eager to know of his mother, he wanted to know of the Stark family.

“Will you sit with me by the hearth fire? I thought we could talk for awhile.” He poured her a glass of wine, Arbor gold, she noted, before leading her towards a chair. “May I ask, did you set those men on me?”

“No,” she answered, deciding to be honest. “I offered myself in marriage earlier today. My betrothed thought to cover himself in glory and attacked you. His father took his vengeance on me for it.” Now, Roose Bolton sat in the Winterfell dungeons and her war was lost before it started.

“You did not love him?”

“I did not love him.” Sansa was the last of the Starks, she had a duty to her people. She wondered where his question would lead.

“Sansa, may I be honest with you?”

“Have you been dishonest with me, my lord?” She did not think so. Jon Snow wanted something from her though, more than this marriage.

He laughed, a quiet laugh, perhaps more at himself than at her words. “My brother and my aunt sent me north in their name. They expect me to rule here, as Lord Paramount, and I mean to do so. This is your land and your people too.”

His half-brother, she thought bitterly. The north was his prize, no more. “I see, my lord.”

“Call me Jon, please,” he pleaded. Sansa wondered at it, if he was uncomfortable with formality or if he sought intimacy between them. “And no, you do not see. You know the north as I do not. My question to you, what shall we do about it?”

Sansa drew back, almost dropping her cup. She took a large sip, wanting a short moment to think of a response. If she understood his question, it was a hidden request. Perhaps even, an opportunity. “Would you like to know of the Starks, of the family that came before us?”

She waited, observing the shift in his expression. Her instincts were correct. Jon Snow wanted more than a broodmare. It was possible he dreamed as she once did, before her family was killed and her dreams died. “Have you seen the blue winter roses that grow here in the north?” He nodded slowly. “Would you like to know how they came to be?”

“Please,” he murmured.

“Once, long ago, there was a King in the North who cared for his people deeply. However, he loved his daughter even more. It is said, this Stark raised his daughter to feel a great sense of responsibility for her people, that to rule was a burden and not a right. Time passed and his little girl became a woman grown. She would need to marry and have a family of her own. One day, the king sought out his daughter and asked her who she would like to marry.”

“And what did she say?”

Sansa smiled sadly, thinking of her father. “She told the king she would only marry a man like him. She wanted a man who was gentle, to her and to their people, whose touches were always loving, who cared for the least powerless. A man who was brave, even against great odds, even when he felt fear in his belly. A man who was strong, to have the courage to do what must be done, and, most of all, possessed the strength, to know when to seek out guidance. The king listened patiently to his daughter, but silently, he despaired. So, he went to the heart tree here in the Winterfell godswood, and begged the old gods for help. ‘Where can I find such a man as this?’ he asked them. After all, the king knew the hidden nature of men. They could be cruel and selfish, filled with a man’s ambitions and he did not want this for the daughter he loved so dearly. But, the old gods kept their silence, he heard nothing but the wind.”

“Did he organize a tourney?” It was half a jape yet Jon seemed almost enchanted by her story, even so.

“There was no tourney,” Sansa replied. “Word spread throughout the north of his daughter’s great beauty and kindness. Soon, offers of marriages came almost every day. She was given bolts of silk and baubles of every sort. Some men thought to display their strength in the training yard. Still others sang for her in the great hall. But, she loved none of them. Then, one day, a stranger walked through the gates of Winterfell. He had a long face, dark hair, and gray eyes. No one knew -”

“He sounds like a Stark, like me.” Jon interrupted.

“So he does,” she answered, amused. “But, he was not a Stark. He had no land or titles. He was not a lord, nor even a knight. He did not challenge others in the training yard nor did he offer fine jewelry to the king’s daughter. One night, a great fire broke out in the old watchtower. Others stayed back in fear, but the stranger ran in, despite the flames. He saved many people but his right hand was badly burned. The stranger offered to hunt and feed the small folk when winter came and food was scarce. He listened to the king’s daughter and showed her every kindness. Slowly, as it sometimes happens, the two of them fell very deeply in love. They were married here in Winterfell, with the heart tree and the king as witness. There was a great feast and all of the household rejoiced. They danced in each other’s arms and whispered sweet words to the other. Finally, they slipped away, and retired to their bedchamber, eager to be alone as husband and wife.”

_Sansa smiled up at her new husband, seeing only love in his eyes. “Do you think our absence is noted?”_

_Jon snorted. “There is no pounding at the door yet.” He’d barred the door and set a chair in front of it as soon as they entered the room. “It will only be us, I swear it.”_

_The previous day, she’d told Jon of her worry over the bedding ceremony. Their quiet escape was for her, she knew. “The Greatjon will be disappointed.”_

_His voice turned low and deep, making her shudder. “It is not the Greatjon that concerns me. Only you, my love.”_

_“It concerns me that you have not yet kissed your new wife in our chambers.,” she said, smiling slyly._

_“An omission that would be quickly rectified.”_

_And Jon did, pressing their lips together and pulling her close in his arms. his lips were firm as he gently pushed his way into her mouth, licking at her. Sansa felt herself growing weak and moaned against him. The kiss slowed and turned tender as she felt his hands drift and wander over her body, exploring. Desire bloomed low in her belly. She broke the kiss to whisper against his lips, “Will you take your new wife to bed?”_

_“Gods, Sansa.”_

_They laughed and kissed each other, quickly removing the other’s clothes in their excitement. Somehow, they made it to their bed, their limbs tangled together_

_Jon cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing across her chin and lips. “Sansa…..I…”_

_“What’s wrong?” Sansa reached up to mirror his gesture, giggling when he caught her thumb with his mouth and gently suckled on it._

_“I love you, more than there are words to describe.”_

_“And I love you.” Sansa did, she loved her new husband with an intensity she once would never have imagined. Somehow, the gods brought her a man who was just as she described to her father, brave, gentle, and strong. How could she not love such a man?_

_Jon entered her slowly, allowing them both to revel in the feel of their bodies coming together. Sansa ran her hands along his back in a desperate bid to somehow bring him even closer to her. He moved slowly, letting them learn the other’s body, letting them savor every loving touch and sweet kiss. Then, finally, they could take it no more, and he spilled his seed with a loud roar._

_After, he held her in his arms. Their breathing was heavy and a light sheen covered their bodies. Jon’s finger traced a path up her arm, leaving goose flesh in its wake. “I swore a vow earlier when we knelt in prayer.”_

_Sansa looked up at her new husband, resting her chin on his chest. “What vow did you swear?”_

_“I swore to be a good husband, to be kind to our people, to lend you strength when you need it. To love you for all our days.”_

_She felt a wetness on her cheeks._

Sansa paused to take a deep breath. “And he kept his vows for all their years together. The two of them loved each other very deeply.”

“So how did the blue roses come to be?”

“Ahh, there is more to the tale. As I said, the two of them loved each other deeply. They had several children whose laughter could be heard all throughout Winterfell. The people of the north adored their king and queen and they ruled together for many, many years. But, time passes, as it always does, and the queen grew very ill. Her husband stayed by her bedside, desperately to save her life. But, his efforts were for naught. One spring day, life left her body. Her beloved husband and children, and all the north, grieved over their loss. Her husband, who so greatly loved his wife, could not contain his deep pain. He walked in the yards here of Winterfell, as tears fell down his cheeks. It is said that where his tears landed, the first blue roses grew. Now, north men give blue roses to their ladies as a sign of their love and devotion, for the flowers only grow here and are still a very rare sight.” She drew quiet and took another small sip of her wine.

The silence between them grew, it felt an awkward and heavy thing to Sansa. Still, she said nothing.

“Is that true?”

She glanced over at Jon. He sat at the edge of his seat, staring at her intently. “The Stark look came from her husband and is still with us today. As to whether the tale is true or not, who can say? It was a very long time ago. What matters is, do you believe in it, Jon Snow?”

She took a final sip of her wine and rose to leave him. They had nothing else to say to the other. Sansa would marry him in three days time, whether she willed it or no.

“May I call you Sansa?”

She considered, there was a familiarity to it she was not sure of. “You may. Good night Jon.”

“Sansa?”

She turned to face him. There was something to Jon’s expression she did not understand. “Yes?”

“Will you tell me another story tomorrow?”

“It would please me greatly to do so.” She left him alone, in the chambers that had belonged to her only a short time ago.


End file.
